


Balcony Snapshot

by reallyamerica



Category: APH - Fandom, Axis Powers Hetalia, Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Human AU, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallyamerica/pseuds/reallyamerica
Summary: A tiny snapshot of Francis realizing the depth of his feelings for Alfred, while being the drama queen he often is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was something small I always meant to make into something bigger, but as I haven't touched it but to glance at before working on other things in ages I figured it was time to finally let it see the light of day (or night? whenever).

Francis sat with Antonio on the balcony, biting on his lower lip in between puffs on the cigarette that was burning in his fingers. His eyes flickered from looking over the city, to the small yard just below, where Alfred was playing ball with a very excited golden retriever. He was silent and had a strange look upon his face that made Antonio sit forward in his squeaky old chair.

"You alright, mi amigo?" Francis smushed his cigarette into the ashtray that was perched precariously on the railing before him, and then turned to the Spaniard.

"I remember learning once that Vincent Van Gogh ate yellow paint because he thought yellow was a happy color, and he thought that eating it would make him happy. People thought he was crazy, and he might've been, but I see something else as well. If he was crazy then we are all crazy. Van Gogh ate paint, which was toxic. We all have vices. There are people who drink constantly, or smoke," Francis paused to gesture at the ash tray with his very own smoldering vice in it. "People who are addicted to drugs, people who do things with very possible consequences because they are seeking feeling alive. These things are every person's yellow paint." As Francis' words stopped for a moment, a slow inhale following, Antonio thought of his personal vice of choice. He said nothing, but a car zipped by on the road and Francis reached his hands out onto the railing and rested them there. Antonio moved his eyes to him again as he started to speak once more.

"We’re all searching for something in life… to find our happiness. To feel. At the end of the day, c'est vrai, we’re all just looking for our yellow paint and no one can really deny it, we crave happiness just like Van Gogh." This time Francis dropped his gaze down to Alfred and left it there. Antonio watched his face intently trying to discern what exactly it was that he saw there.

"I think he's my yellow paint."


End file.
